Please Don't Tempt Me
by Catty Jay
Summary: Rachel Berry has taught at McKinley for over four years and considers herself a moral person. But what happens when one of her student tempts her bounds, and shows her just how right something wrong can feel?
1. The Hint Of A Spark

**Chapter 1: The Hint of a Spark**

"Eyes to the front, Jake."

The boy glanced up at his teacher as she spoke, before twisting around to face the front of the class. He slouched back in his chair, Rachel giving him a firm but kind look as she turned to continue writing down the day's homework on the whiteboard.

She could hear the low murmuring and the whispers, the sound a light hum over the group of teens. Her Junior English class was growing restless as it neared the end of the double period. There was the telltale clicking of pens and scrunching of spare paper, and the distinct feeling that not all 30 sets of eyes were watching the whiteboard. But the thought made her smile, as did most things about her job.

Rachel Berry had never pictured her life in a classroom. When she graduated McKinley High 10 years ago, she never expected to be back, surrounded by adolescent teens and Shakespeare. She had imagined it on a stage in front of thousands; adored. That was her dream, to bring joy to millions. And in many ways it still was. Even if that dream had been put on hold.

But she was surprised to find the adoration of her students and the satisfaction of knowing she was influencing them to aspire to greater things beyond the walls of McKinley was enough for her. It wasn't thousands of strangers, or the thrill of a standing ovation. This thrill was of a different kind, a slow burning one that still left a smile on her face after so many years of walking the crowded halls of her old high school.

She had left Lima when she graduated. Like so many of her friends, she was drawn to the bright lights and big city of New York. But Rachel soon found that stardom was a harder dream than most to follow, moving back home after only two years to the comfort of Lima and a one-bedroom apartment in the inner suburbs of town. It wasn't a loft in Soho, or a private dressing room on Broadway. But it was home. And it was comfortable.

Rachel could still hear the low buzz from behind her, the sound almost calming. She'd grown used to it over the years, sometimes craving it during long summer breaks. But it was just quiet enough for her to hear the high keen of a ringtone vibrating from the back of the room.

"Bree." She said it calmly, not needing to turn to see the girl's head snap up from her lap and the glowing screen of her iPhone. "On my desk, please." She could hear the small huff, followed by shuffled footsteps and a dull thud. Rachel clicked the lid on her marker, spinning on her heel to catch the cheerleader retaking her seat at the back of the room. "You can come back and collect it at the end of the day."

Bree folded her arms across her chest, her full lips pouting slightly. Rachel gave her a sympathetic smile, dropping the cell phone into her desk drawer, before pacing to the front of her class. "Now, the key to a successful research paper is choosing your thesis statement," Rachel instructed. "Too specific and you'll limit yourself. Too broad a question and your argument will just get lost in all the information."

Rachel picked up a small stack of paper from her desk, and began passing them along the front row, her high heels clicking across the linoleum. "I've prepared some examples of question structure based off the case study we did last week." She came to a halt near the large floor length windows that covered the whole right side of her classroom, the murmurs of her students growing louder. "Just pass them back, please."

Even when Rachel returned to Lima, studying English Literature was never in her plan; not that she'd had anything concrete when she'd packed up her new life. The months that followed saw her looking into local theatre programs, and teaching acting classes at the community centre downtown. But ultimately it was her mother's influence that helped sway her into the profession and back into the halls of McKinley High. She had been teaching English for decades, so it only seemed a natural fit when it came time for Rachel to choose her own major.

Smoothing down her dark blouse and high-waist skirt, Rachel watched as the handouts hit the back row, the bell ringing moments later for the end of period. Her students began getting to their feet, grabbing book bags and pencil cases, and forwarding out into the hall. "Okay." Rachel raised her voice slightly to compensate for the sound of chairs being dragged across the cold floor and the babble of 30 teenagers. "Your homework is to choose your research topic. We'll go over them next week."

Moving back to her desk, Rachel began straightening the papers and work plans that lay scattered over the wooden surface, pulling them into her top drawer. She retrieved Bree's cell phone in the process, looking up amidst the rush of students to see the young cheerleader walking towards the door.

"Bree," Rachel called. The girl spun around, letting the rest of her peers pass her as she made her way over to her desk. Rachel held up the cell phone, a smile splitting across Bree's face. She made a grab for it, Rachel retracting her hand at the last second. "How about just leaving it on silent?" Rachel smiled. "That way I won't know the next time you decide not to pay attention in my class." Bree nodded, reaching again for the device. But Rachel pulled back once more. "Any other teacher and it _would_ have been the end of the day. Understand?"

"Understand," Bree laughed, nodding again. "Thanks, Miss B." The girl took the offered phone, and skipped toward the door, before spinning around again to look at her teacher, "Happy Birthday, Miss Berry."

She disappeared into the crowd surging past the door, leaving Rachel alone in the empty classroom. The young teacher just shook her head, biting her lip idly, before going back to tidying her desk.

* * *

><p>"Why not? He's cute." Isabelle looked over her shoulder at the table in the far corner. The lively Home Ec. teacher let out a low whistle as she continued to stare at the new swim coach, the man blissfully unaware at the attention he was garnering. "He can give me CPR any day. If only I was 20 years younger."<p>

Rachel shook her head at the woman, "Come on. No. I don't need my friends playing cupid, you four are the last people I should be taking dating advice from." Rachel pointed an accusatory fork in the direction of the other four teachers at her table. "I'm completely okay with my terminal single status. It serves me just fine, thank you very much."

"What?" her best friend, Jesse, questioned innocently. "We're doing no such thing. Frankly, I'm offended you would even suggest that we're-" Rachel looked up from her salad, training a death stare on him. The man chuckled to himself, his lips pulling up in the same smile she'd seen for the past 13 years. It made him look boyish and handsome at the same time.

"Hey, don't drag me into this." Grace Hitchens, McKinley's resident guidance counsellor, raised her hands in mock surrender. "I'm just here, minding my own business. It's these three." She used her own fork for emphasis, jabbing it in the direction of Holly as well, the History teacher sporting a bewildered look at the accusation. Grace continued to chew her current mouthful, before adding, "_But_ your mom would approve. Just saying."

"Agreed," Jesse quipped.

"Since that is what's important here." Rachel rolled her eyes, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She continued to eat her lunch, keeping her gaze from straying to the far table and to the object of their conversation. "And hey, just think, if I'm taken I won't be able to marry you." Rachel turned to Jesse, smiling sweetly at him. "Now will I?"

"Ah yes, our deal," he murmured, taking a sip of his water and sitting further back in his chair. "And what a shame that would be."

Rachel dropped her fork, smacking the Drama teacher on the chest. He coughed, swatting away her tiny fist. Rachel knew he was just teasing, but it still gave her great satisfaction to wipe the smug grin from his face. Ever since sophomore year, the two friends had had a packed that they would get married if they were both still single come Rachel's 30th birthday. Today marked her 28th, the occasion bringing the fond memory back to the surface.

"Besides, he's too young for me," Rachel dismissed, chancing a glance at the far table. She watched as the man dragged his fingers roughly through his mess of blonde hair, before he caught Rachel's eye. A deep flush immediately touched her cheeks, Rachel quickly averting her gaze back to her friends.

"Two years is hardly young, sweet cheeks," Holly jeered, a wide smirk on her lips.

"Coach?"

Rachel's head snapped to the entrance of the teacher's lounge, welcoming the interruption. Her eyes fell on a student she recognized from one of her Senior English classes, dressed in full Cheerios uniform and carrying a clipboard. She leant gently against the jamb as Sue Sylvester, the cheerleading coach, took to her feet and strode purposefully to the door.

Rachel watched the pair for a moment. Sue was speaking to her in a hushed tone, the girl nodding at her coach before her dark eyes drifted to Rachel. They were curious, but with an edge Rachel couldn't quite put her finger on. It was unnerving, pulling the teacher up short.

It was a long moment before the cheerleader broke, turning on her heel and wandering back into the hallway without a second glance, Sue following her out. Rachel moved her gaze back to her friends just when the bell resounded in the school's halls, the woman slightly taken back as she bent to retrieve her handbag.

"You know, you could always go gay, Berry." Rachel felt a tight knot hit high under her ribs at that distinct voice. She looked up in time to see the McKinley Dance teacher, Cassandra, near their table. "I hear Mrs Bletheim's freshly divorced." Her words were sneered, the woman almost skipping past them on her way out the door. "Jesse, don't forget we have a choreography run through at 3.30 for the musical."

"Sure, Cass," he nodded, watching her leave. Jesse sighed, touching Rachel's shoulder soothingly once she'd disappeared into the oncoming crowd. "Don't let her get to you, Rach."

"Easy for you, she actually likes you," Rachel bit back, getting to her feet, Holly, Isabelle, and Grace already having cleared out. "Me, she distains."

"She likes you." It was said without any conviction, Jesse half shrugging at the fact. "You know, deep, _deep_ down." The man broke out into that grin Rachel couldn't resist, the knot easing with just that one look.

"We've got class."

Rachel placed the rest of her salad in the waste bin on her way out the door, dissolving into the onslaught of students. They stood by lockers and chatted in the halls, some escaping to the bathroom before the start of fifth period. Jesse stood half a step in front of her, the flow of teens giving them a wide birth as they both headed to their respective classrooms.

Rachel paused for a moment, taking a boy's hat from his head as she passed and handed it back to him. "Not inside, Luke." The junior shot her a tiny smile, before storing it in his locker and wandering off down the opposite hall. "Also, what have I told you about telling my students about my personal life." Rachel turned to Jesse, chastising him as she whacked him lightly on his bicep. "Just wait, they'll start calling me Rachel soon."

"What are you talking about?" The man gave her confused look, the pair continuing to weave through the crowd.

"Bree, that junior cheerleader, said Happy Birthday to me this morning."

"I didn't tell her." Jesse appeared genuine, an edge of confusion in his voice. "I didn't tell anyone." The pair kept walking, before Jesse raised his brow, that smile coming back. "Well, everyone except Coach Evans."

"Jesse!" she exclaimed.

"Rachel!"

The two friends both spun to see Sam Evans jogging down the hall toward them, his silver whistle swinging gently around his neck. "Oh boy." Jesse mumbled, laughter clear in his tone. The man attempted to disappear amongst the flow of students, Rachel's face getting hotter by the second as she grabbed him by the wrist.

"Jesse St. James, don't you dare," It was a harsh whisper, her grip digging into his skin. But he managed to squirm free, walking backwards away from her, his clipboard raised in surrender. He mouthed his apology before spinning on his heel and dissolving into the sea of teens.

"You okay?" Sam had saddled up beside Rachel, the woman trying her best to compose herself. "I kinda overheard, back there."

The blood instantly drained from Rachel's face and rushed to her stomach at his words, her mind racing over what he may or may not have been privy to. But Sam must have noticed her distress as he rushed to explain. "Well I saw, not heard. What'd she say to you, you looked pretty upset?"

"Oh Cassandra," Rachel sighed, almost relieved. "No nothing, it's fine. Just Cassandra being Cassandra." She smiled politely at him, Sam returning the gesture. Rachel noted that he did indeed have a cute smile, the corners of his mouth almost pinching, showing the start of dimples either side of his full lips.

Rachel shook her head lightly, disregarding the wayward thought, before continuing to walk in the direction of her classroom, Sam keeping pace at her side. "So, I hear it's your birthday. You should've said," he intoned, conversational. "I would have got you like a cupcake or something."

The previous flush returned to Rachel's cheeks in full force, "Oh that's truly not necessary, it's not that big of a deal." She tried to cover herself, her handbag clutched loosely in front of her. "Thank you, though," she said genuinely, before pointing over her shoulder. "I should really get going."

"No, sure." Sam just nodded at her, that easy smile still in place.

After telling him goodbye, Rachel began walking down the first corridor on her left, in the opposite direction of her class. She hoped Sam wouldn't realize, as she pushed open the door to the faculty bathroom.

It was empty, except for one occupied stall in the far corner. Walking to the nearest sink, Rachel gripped it with both hands to steady herself, her mind a mess of thoughts. She'd only spoken to Sam a handful of times, but with each she could see his growing interest becoming more and more apparent; something she'd shared with her friends earlier in the break. And something they seemed keen to pursue, if not for her than for their own amusement. But she honestly didn't know how she felt about him.

Yes, he was good looking. And yes, he seemed genuine and like a nice guy. But Rachel had been sincere when she'd told her friends; she had no issue being single and keeping it that way. It suited her lifestyle, and she had no intention of changing that lifestyle in the near future.

"You're getting way too old for this," Rachel mumbled to her reflection.

She heard the stall behind her flush, Isabelle opening the cubicle door and walking up to the sink beside her. The woman washed her hands, before catching Rachel's eye in the mirror. "Is everything okay, honey?" Her voice was full of concern, her perfect eyebrows turning down. "You look a little flustered."

Rachel nodded at her, hoping it would be enough for her friend. But Isabelle just smiled sadly at her, as she dried her hands. "They're not all bad, you know."

"Who?" Rachel kept her hands gripping the sink, not needing or wanting another deep and meaningful about dating.

"The kids of course. Who'd you think I meant?" Isabelle winked at her, before picking up her Chanel handbag and turning to leave. "I'll see ya later, beautiful."

Rachel took a deep breath, and looked at her reflection one last time. She could see the start of worry lines setting in above her brow. Rachel massaged them out and closed her eyes for a moment, taking another much need breath before following her friend out.

* * *

><p>There was a minute to spare when Rachel arrived at her Senior English class, the woman walking briskly to catch the last bell. She set her handbag down underneath her chair, before taking a seat behind her large oak desk at the front of the room. There were only a handful of students not already seated. All of them were chatting amongst themselves, some pausing in their conversations to greet their teacher.<p>

Rachel quickly pulled the new class novel from a box at her feet, putting them down on the front of her desk. She was in the middle of straightening the three small stacks when a chocolate cupcake with gold star sprinkles was placed down in front of her. "Happy Birthday, Miss Berry."

"Kurt," Rachel laughed, looking up at the fresh-faced boy. "You shouldn't have."

"It was either this or something low cut with sequins, but I felt this was slightly more appropriate for the occasion."

"Well thank you, Kurt." She picked up the small cupcake, and tasted the icing with her finger. "How did you know?" Rachel asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Oh, a little bird," he said vaguely. "I promise it's not poisoned," Kurt insisted, before falling to a teasing whisper. "I'm not an evil queen." The boy winked at her, as his boyfriend, Blaine, swooped in and took him by the arm, steering him to their seats in the second row.

Rachel giggled at him. She knew she wasn't meant to show favouritism to any student, it was a fact that had been drilled into her ever since her first day. But Kurt made it very difficult. He had always toed the line between student and friend, Rachel wondering if things would have been different had they met outside the halls of McKinley.

The young teacher rummaged in her desk and soon found a small container in her top draw, storing her gift safely in her handbag. As she straightened up, the rest of her class appeared to have all forwarded in, that murmur turning to a light hum as Rachel paced to the front of the class. She retrieved a book from the closest stack, and sat on the edge of her desk, "Okay, class. This-"

"Sorry we're late, Miss Berry." There was a light rap at the door, Rachel stopping as 28 sets of eyes trained on the sudden intrusion. Quinn Fabray, the captain of the Cheerios, was standing idly in the doorway. "We were with Coach Sylvester."

Rachel was about to ask whom Quinn meant by _we_ when she saw the vice-captain, Santana, follow her in, those same dark eyes passing over Rachel as she walked by.

"That's alright, girls. Take your seats." Rachel motioned from them to sit down, watching as they took separate paths, Santana straying from Quinn to sit next to Blaine in the second row. She sat back in her chair and pulled her notepad from her bag, Rachel tearing her eyes away to continue her lesson. "Okay, so this term we'll be studying Fahrenheit 451," Rachel told them, holding up the book she had picked up from the stack on her desk. "It's set in a dystopian society where books, or knowledge if you like, are illegal and the government has sought to confiscate and burn all books across the United States. It's fantastic. I read it when I was a senior here at McKinley."

"And when was that, Miss?" a voice quipped lightly. "Last week?"

The low hum got louder, her students all turning to find the source of the comment as Rachel's eyes instantly found Santana in the second row. The girl was toying with her pen, the hint of smile touching her full lips. It wasn't the girl's expression that sent the knot to Rachel's stomach, but her tone. It was teasing, almost as if she was trying to get a rise out of her.

A few students closest to Santana snickered. Mack and Dani, sitting to her left, covered their mouths with their hands, while others, such as Kurt and Blaine, were slightly shocked at their friend's boldness.

"Quiet, please." A hush instantly fell over her class. Rachel placed the novel gently on her desk and looked at the cheerleader point blank. "Detention, Santana." She said it as confidently as she could. "Today, after school."

Usually Rachel would be more lenient, much more. But something about Santana unnerved her. She didn't usually give out detention for something so small, but it was that tone, and the affliction she put on her words.

"I can't."

"Excuse me?" Rachel exclaimed in disbelief, setting herself on her feet and taking a step closer. The girl had said it without any hint of sarcasm or her previous tone, her smile gone from her lips.

"I have cheerleading practice this afternoon, _Miss_." Santana had an unreadable expression on her slight features. It only proved to unnerve Rachel even more. But the teacher knew better than to challenge Coach Sylvester when it came to her Cheerio captains.

"Then it'll be tomorrow, and for two hours for talking back," Rachel said firmly, moving back to sit on her desk. Santana put her tongue to her cheek, but didn't argue any further. She went back to toying with her pen, her eyes finding her notepad.

But Rachel swore she saw her smirk.

* * *

><p>It was growing dark when Rachel left work, staying back to finalise lesson plans for the next day. The hallways were completely deserted, save for the janitor buffing the floor down the main corridor. She smiled at him as she passed, the older man returning the gesture as he continued to drag the machine over the polished linoleum.<p>

She was about to push through the double doors to the faculty parking lot when she noticed a glow coming from the Principal's office, down to her right. She dropped her grip on the handle, wandering further down the hallway until she came to the large glass office at the end. There was a lamp on, providing enough light to illuminate the large mahogany desk and the woman sitting behind it.

Rachel walked further inside, passing the front desk and lightly knocking on the glass door. The dark-haired woman looked up from the paperwork scattered across her desk, that familiar smile stretching across her lips, "Hi, Rachel."

"Hey, Mom."

Rachel moved to sit in one of the chairs opposite, the woman still distracted by the forms she was currently filling out. "How was your day, sweetie?"

"It was okay," Rachel told her, attempting to sound enthused. "Just another day. Well at least I wish it were. Jesse decided to tell half the faculty and I'm guessing some of my students that it was my birthday today."

"Don't be too hard on him, Rachel." Her mother, Shelby, looked up at her, smiling lovingly at her only daughter. "That's my future son-in-law you're talking about."

"You remember that?"

"Of course I do, it was the first day I met you." Shelby seemed to pause for a moment, "Well, met you again." Her mother's eyes crinkled in the corners, showing her laugh lines. "It's how you introduced me to him. Your future husband." She sounded like the quintessential proud mother, with just a hint of teasing.

"Come on, I was a 15 year old schoolgirl, in love for the first time," Rachel argued lightly. "You can hardly hold it against me."

"Ah, before I forget." Shelby ducked down, Rachel hearing a draw to her desk slide open, before she remerged holding a small box with an even smaller pink bow. Her mother placed it in front of her, smiling widely, a pleased glint in her eye. "Happy Birthday."

Rachel smiled for what felt like the first time today at those two words, "Thanks, Mom." She retrieved the present, but held onto it, setting it on her lap.

"You having dinner with your fathers tonight?" Shelby filed the last of her letters in a folder, slipping it into her draw, before locking it shut.

"Yeah, they have a whole dinner planned at 7.30," Rachel replied, her eyes automatically straying to the clock above her mother's bookcase, noting that she still had 45 minutes. "You know how much they love parties. Any excuse for those two."

"Oh I remember," Shelby laughed, clasping her hands in front of her. "They tried to throw me one every time I gave them a new ultrasound photo. Think the hospital staff even had to shoo them out of the waiting room when you were born because they'd wanted to put up a _welcome to the world_ sign for you with celebratory apple cider."

Rachel laughed with her, being able to imagine her overly theatrical dads standing on waiting room furniture, stringing up the sign she knew they would have both stayed up making the previous night. She looked to her mother once the laughter settled, Rachel seeing the beautiful age lines around Shelby's eyes, hoping she'd age just as gracefully.

"Well I better get going. I just wanted to say goodnight." Rachel put her present in her handbag, straightened her armchair as she stood to leave.

"Oh Rachel, before you go."

"Yeah?" Rachel murmured, turning back with an expectant look.

"Are you able to cover detention tomorrow?" Shelby waved her hands about as she moved to explain further. "Grace has some kind of last minute appointment and needs to leave early."

Rachel didn't know why, but her first thought was of Santana. The image of her ghosted across her vision for the split second it took for her to respond, "Yeah, of course." Rachel gave her a small smile, pulling her handbag higher on her shoulder. "Goodnight, Mom."

"Night, baby."

Rachel turned to leave, walking back through the glass doors and down the hall past the janitor, and through the double doors to the parking lot. But even as she reached her car, and even as she pulled out of the exit and onto the highway, she couldn't quite shake the thought of the young girl, or more so that smirk.


	2. The Start Of Nothing

**Chapter 2: The Start Of Nothing**

"Do you like them, honey?"

Rachel looked over at her father, Leroy, smiling genuinely. "They're lovely, Dad."

She took a tentative sip of her red wine, before brushing her fingers over her new birthday present. The gold ring glinted under the low hanging light, tiny white diamonds lining one side and coming full circle around the band. It was beautiful; and from what Rachel knew of her fathers' taste, expensive.

She slipped it off her middle finger, and placed it back in the small box that lay open on the glass dining table. Reaching up, she unclipped the matching necklace that fell just below her collarbone, returning it to the box as well. It held three small pedants, a heart, a star, and an anchor, hanging from a thin gold chain and marked with another white stone.

"Your father picked them out," Leroy murmured, leaning back in his chair. "It came with a set of earrings too, but he had his eye on them."

"Dad," Rachel chastised, laughing. Her father had a teasing grin on his lips, taking a sip of his own glass as he absently straightened the dining set. The three of them had just finished dinner, her dad, Hiram, clearing the table and taking to the kitchen. She could hear him from the dining room, no doubt decorating her birthday cake. The sound of silverware chinked lightly, ringing through the lower level of the two-story home.

It was the house Rachel grew up in, and didn't leave until she graduated and moved to New York. With its white walls and light wood floors, it would be considered grand to any stranger who would enter. But to Rachel it was just home, even if it was constantly changing. The house always seemed to be evolving amidst renovations and rebuilds, both her fathers working in the industry, Leroy in real estate, and Hiram in property law.

Rachel always just laughed it off when she would turn into their study to find a gym, or when the spare bedroom on the upper level miraculously turned into a nursery around her 26th birthday, her fathers claiming innocence; subtlety was never a strong suit of the pair. But it was home nonetheless, Rachel moving back into her old bedroom when she'd returned to Lima, and staying up until Leroy found her an apartment of her own.

"Cake time, you two," Hiram called from the kitchen. Rachel had just picked up the small bottle of perfume her mother had given her. It was accented with a pink bow, the name _Salvatore Ferragamo _printed in flowing script on the glass surface. It was very pretty and feminine, Rachel dabbing a small sample onto her wrist just as her father came back into the room, holding a two-tiered chocolate cake. The first tier was covered in white candles, all lit and flickering. Their flame illuminated Hiram's face as both parents started singing her Happy Birthday.

Rachel did her best to keep a straight face, but couldn't help the giggle that slipped past her lips as Leroy broke out into runs to match his husband. Ever since Rachel was little the two had put their own spin on the celebratory song. Whether to make her laugh or whether they were actually serious, Rachel had never asked and it was a part of her childhood that she loved not knowing.

"Make a wish, sweetie," Hiram cooed, placing the extravagant cake in front of his daughter.

"I don't need to wish," Rachel shook her head with a shrug. "There's nothing I want." She watched the candles sway in the dim light, reaching out a hand to graze the small flames with her fingertips.

"Well, they say it's bad luck," Hiram edged. "You really want to tempt fate?"

"Like what, Dad? Rachel asked. "Having everything change?"

"Maybe," he shrugged, the tiniest smirk quirking at the corner of his lips. Rachel merely kept his gaze, leaning down and blowing out her candles. The tiny wisps of flame flicked, before going out.

_Nothing._

* * *

><p>"Everyone is to copy down today's lesson notes before they leave," Rachel instructed, reattaching the lid on her whiteboard marker. "I don't want any excuses. And yes, I'm talking to you, Aiden. Loss of writing implements does not excuse you from homework, despite your very convincing efforts at persuading me otherwise."<p>

Rachel threw him a soft smile, the boy grinning at her in return as she took a seat behind her desk to the clicking of pens and the dry crinkle of paper coming from her freshmen class. The bell for the end of second period was creeping closer and closer, her class scrabbling to copy the notes on narrative structure she had just written on the board.

It was only a few weeks into term. Each of her students was required to write a short story on _Defying Stereotypes_, incorporating it into the narrative of their stories. She'd taught the current curriculum since she received a permanent position at McKinley, and it was a point she'd always looked forward to. She always loved the look on her students' faces, seeing that telling spark in their eyes when they got to let their imagination run free.

The group of teens were her only freshmen, having two each of junior and senior, as well as a sophomore class. Usually a teacher of Rachel's experience level wouldn't be allowed more than one class of juniors, and rarely a senior. But being the principal's daughter did have its benefits. So whether it was a compliment to her teaching or just her natural sway, Rachel was pleasantly surprised when she received four higher classes on her schedule before the school year started.

"Okay, guys," Rachel called to attention, her class quietening. "You can start packing up. Your homework is to come up with the outline of your story, and to have an idea of how you're going to incorporate it with the theme. You can come to me outside of class if you need help."

Opening her desk, Rachel began collecting her lesson folder and day planner, and pulled them into her top drawer. She had a spare period the next hour with Holly, the teacher practically staring at the clock on the back wall as she continued to clear away her desk.

It wasn't long before the bell sounded in the halls, her students all getting to their feet and forwarding out of the room. Rachel followed, beelining toward the other side of the McKinley campus. She skilfully weaved through the oncoming crowd, taking little notice until she reached the door of the choir room.

When she arrived, Holly was already seated behind the set of drums, twirling a one of the sticks between her fingers. "Hey, Rachel."

"Morning."

Rachel took a seat behind the grand piano in the middle of the room, pulling in close to the keys. It was always empty during lesson hours, Jesse only using it for Glee Club since the new creative arts wing opened. But there was something about the old choir room. It calmed her. It had always been that way, ever since she was a freshman and first joined the club.

It was where she first met Jesse, the boy transferring for Carmel High her sophomore year. Rachel smiled at the memory, as her fingers ghosted over the piano keys. She remembered the first day they'd met like it was yesterday. The pair had clicked instantly; from the moment he'd stepped through the choir doors and introduced himself. To Rachel, he would always be the same handsome 15-year-old boy, no matter how many years passed.

And Holly would always be her eccentric substitute teacher, no matter how many years had passed since she'd been her student. Holly was the only person Rachel trusted to be completely and at times brutally honest with her. She was her closest friend, in the sense that she felt she could tell her anything and not be judged or coddled, telling her aspects of her life that she even censored from Jesse. She was like the big sister Rachel never had growing up.

"So I hear you got detention duty." Holly brought one of the drumsticks down on the crash cymbal, making Rachel jump. "Yikes."

"I don't mind," Rachel smiled. For the first time that day, her thoughts strayed to Santana. It was a strange thing, but it seemed the natural train when the subject of detention was brought up. She thought of that tone of voice, Rachel having the sudden urge to tell Holly. She tested it out, wording it into a sentence that made sense. But it all seemed so trivial, dropping the idea immediately after she'd wish it into being.

_It's nothing._

"I remember looking after detention back when you we're a senior here," Holly recalled, snapping Rachel back once again. "Jesse too."

"Oh, come on. We _never _got detention."

"No, no, that's not true," she smirked. "There was that one time I caught Jesse in the stacks with that Harmony girl." Holly seemed to space for a moment before adding, "That girl had a _killer_ rack for a 17-year-old."

"What?" Rachel stopped the absent tune she was playing, Holly's words bringing her up short. "He's never told me that before."

"And it wasn't the first time either. I kinda felt bad for the kid if I kept ratting him out to Figgins." Holly merely shrugged, going back to tapping out a beat against her leg. "Would never have guessed he'd become a teacher after what I've witnessed."

Rachel smiled at that. "Well, you know how they say those who can't do, teach? Well not him, not Jesse. He can _do_, he was just born to teach. As long as I've know him I could see it." Her fingertips pressed back to the piano, this time beginning a nameless tune that always seemed to come to her when she let her mind be clear. At times it was the only thing that made sense to Rachel. When anything in her life seemed to move out of her control, she could always just close her eyes; lose herself to music. It was simple.

Rachel saw Holly watching her keenly out of the corner of her eye; it felt like a long moment before she spoke. "Soo," Holly began, eyeing Rachel suggestively. Rachel quirked her brow, knowing that look. "How's lover boy?"

"Oh my god," Rachel blanched, squeezing her eyes shut with a laugh. Her head titled back, as a whine escaped her throat. "I'm never telling you guys anything _ever_ again."

* * *

><p>"It was a joke."<p>

Rachel looked up from the exam she was grading to see those dark eyes looking back at her. "Pardon?"

"What I said in class yesterday," Santana edged, playing idly with her pen. "It was stupid, and I shouldn't have said it."

"Is this you apologising to me, Santana?"

The girl chuckled to herself, before going back to her homework. "If you want it to be."

Rachel paused, a rebuttal sitting on her tongue; the words were said so lightly, almost playful. But Rachel swallowed it, returning her attention to the sophomore refresher exams she was marking, trying her best to concentrate on grammar and spelling and literature, and not on the girl two rows away.

It was after the 4pm bell, the only sound coming from the janitor in the hall, and the football team out on the fields, too far away for her to hear. She'd walked into detention hall after her eighth period class ended to find half the seats filled with students, none of them looking up or paying her any mind. It wasn't until she'd sat down behind the teacher's desk at the front of the hall that her eyes had strayed to Santana and the light flood of nerves had come back to her stomach.

Rachel didn't know why they were there. It was like an energy that was in the room before she even entered. It brushed over her skin and settled, Rachel doing her best to ignore it as she began her grading, pushing it from her mind.

As the last bell rang, students had begun packing up their book bags and forwarding out into the empty hallway without so much as a second glance. It had left Rachel alone with Santana, the cheerleader the only one to receive double detention. It made Rachel feel slightly on edge, being alone with her. She didn't know why, she was after all just her student.

The day before in the teacher's lounge, Rachel had seen curiosity, an intrigue that she couldn't quite explain. She'd taught Santana the whole year up until now and never had she seen those eyes quite like that; though Rachel had never had a reason to notice before, and not that she had one now.

Rachel dismissed the thought, filing her stack of exams in her folder, before retrieving a lesson plan for tomorrow's classes. She was only halfway through the second session of detention, a part of Rachel regretting the decision to increase Santana's punishment from one hour to two.

"This marriage is seriously fucked up."

_Nevermind._

Santana's words were said under her breath. But they were loud enough for Rachel to hear, almost as if Santana wanted her to hear them. The girl didn't look up, continuing to scrutinise the novel that lay open in her hands.

Choosing to overlook her bad language, Rachel watched Santana read, observing her with her own intrigue. "Montag and Mildred?"

"She cares more about _things_ than she does about her husband. Makes me want to off myself." Santana flicked through the small book with her thumb, an unreadable expression laden on her features. "Almost feels like I'm suffocating with them in their miserable little lives."

"But don't you think it serves a purpose to the story?" Rachel asked, her pen stilling. "That Ray Bradbury wrote them that way for a reason? Made you feel that way for a reason?" She felt that low burn in the pit of her stomach, the one she always got when she taught, or let a student see a new perspective. And all of sudden Santana _was_ her student. Because that's all she was. Nothing more.

_Nothing._

"Look at this," she murmured, her eyes flicking over line after line. "_And he remembered thinking then that if she died, he was certain he wouldn't cry. For it would be the dying of an unknown, a street face, a newspaper image, and it was suddenly so very wrong that he had begun to cry, not at death but at the thought not crying at death, a silly empty man near a silly empty woman…"_

Rachel just sat, listening. Santana had a kind of poetry in the way she spoke; it was a hard thing to turn away from. "I read somewhere that unless you have a love that's intoxicating and passionate, don't bother," Santana mused, her eyes flicking up to Rachel. "Too many things in this life are mediocre. Love shouldn't be one of them." Those eyes just stared, piercing and not wavering for the first time since Rachel had entered the hall. "Don't you agree, Miss?"

There was that tone again, plain as day. It sent the nerves higher in Rachel's stomach, her skin prickling uncomfortably. But she didn't break her gaze, staring right back at her. "You can go, Santana."

Rachel forced her eyes back to her work, willing her pen back into motion. She didn't need to see the girl's reaction or see another smirk to plague her evening. Rachel just wanted her gone, wanted to not be alone with her anymore.

She heard her chair screech backwards and the light footfalls of her heeled boots, coming closer and closer. "Goodnight, Miss."

Long fingers grazed the edge of Rachel's desk, catching it in her peripheral, and leaving her with only one solid thought. But the sound of Santana's voice told Rachel that the girl knew she'd gotten to her teacher. And it wasn't until she heard the door click shut behind her that Rachel allowed herself a breath.

_Nothing._

* * *

><p>Rachel placed her set of house keys down on the glass entrance table, turning the lock on her front door. She'd barely walked through the entryway when it hit her. It was a sort of empty nothing, a confusion that ached just behind her eyes and down the back of her neck. It left her feeling restless, something she hadn't been in a long time, longer than she could consciously remember.<p>

She walked further into her apartment, hearing the tiny patter of feet on her hardwood floors. The cute sound brought a smile to her face. It made her forget for a moment about the day as she put down her handbag just in time for her Yorkshire terrier, Fiyero, to come trotting around the corner, his tag tinkling gently the closer he came.

"Hello, baby," Rachel murmured. She combed her fingers through his short hair and scratched at his neck. His tail shook, ecstatic, his little tongue poking out to lick at her fingertips. Rachel picked him up and kissed him between his ears, walking both of them into the kitchen.

She lived on the second story of her complex, in a small one-bedroom apartment close to the centre of town. The furniture was modern and white, with old Broadway posters lining the short hall and accenting her living room. Rachel had lived there since her first year of college, and took over the mortgage from her parents once she'd started working at McKinley. It wasn't much, but she'd made it home.

As she entered her kitchen, she placed another kiss atop Fiyero's head and put him down gently on the floor to start getting her dinner ready. She loved when he was home to greet her after work, especially the longer days like today. The elderly man, Arthur, in the apartment below let her keep Fiyero in his small yard attached to his unit while she was working.

There were days when Rachel would have to go downstairs to get him, letting herself into the yard through a side gate, but mostly Fiyero would be waiting for her when she opened the door, Art putting him back before she got home each day. He'd always assured Rachel that he didn't mind, growing quite found of the little dog over the years.

When Rachel had finally sat down it was after dinner, a stack of pop quizzes on her lap and Fiyero sleeping against her thigh on the couch. She was halfway through the pile, having just finished marking Blaine's, the boy getting _9/10_ on his paper. She'd kept her TV on low, a late night talk show playing as she took a sip of her red wine, her blanket and Fiyero helping keep her warm against the late January chill.

Rachel was placing Blaine's in the folder when her fingers grazed over Santana's, his classmate's name sticking out amongst the rest. She lifted it up and read over it carefully, that ghostly feeling passing over her skin again. She'd been avoiding thinking about the girl since she'd got home, pushing her to the farthest part of her mind.

She'd spent the whole day convincing herself that what she saw and heard in English the day before was just a student trying to challenge her authority. But to see it again, so blatant, it was hard to ignore. She'd experienced student crushes before; it came with the territory of being a young teacher. But this felt different; Santana was different. Which made her doubt that that's what it was. It wasn't as innocent or playful as the previous times.

The others were harmless, and flattering to a degree. But this, this was anything but innocent. She felt it in the way Santana had said goodnight, and the way her eyes pierced through her; Rachel didn't know dark eyes could be so piercing.

Rachel shook her head at the vivid memory, her hand absently scratching the light hairs behind Fiyero's ears. With a sigh she put the exam to one side, moving onto the next paper on her lap.

_It's nothing._

* * *

><p>"So who here thinks Clarisse is insane?" Rachel was perched on her desk, her legs crossed at the ankle. "I'm talking clinically, not figuratively."<p>

She was in her third period Senior English class, many of her students raising their hands at her question. Most had already read the first 30 pages as part of their homework assignment, but as a teacher she knew that a few wouldn't have even gone past the first.

"Mack." Rachel pointed to the girl sitting next to Dani in the second row, her hand raised in an almost lazy manner. "How so?"

"She just craps on about tasting raindrops and smelling trees," Mack shrugged with smirk, a few students chuckling lightly. "She's like a crazy cat lady by modern standards. She even told Montag she seeing a physiatrist."

"I disagree," Quinn interjected politely, delicately. "I think by modern standards she's just as sane as me or you. It's just that she was born into a society that didn't understand her. A society that tried to destroy the very thing that made her special, and such a marvel to Montag."

"Exactly." Rachel took to her feet writing _Expectations_ in neat, elegant script on the whiteboard. "Sanity is as relative as time. It's all about the expectation of society. Look at Van Gogh and Da Vinci. Their peers called them crazy. Now they are viewed as pioneers of their era. Revered even."

Rachel turned back to the whiteboard, continuing to write down the day's lesson. "So anything can be viewed as commonplace?" Santana's voice hung over everyone, Rachel pausing and turning on her heel to look at her. "I mean, love, art, literature, anything, as long as society deems it so?"

"Theoretically," Rachel intoned. Santana was looking at her again with that intrigue lighting her eyes. Rachel felt a charge of sorts; so brief and sudden it may have never happened. It ran over her skin, vibrating like something had jolted her. And all too sudden it was gone, like a whisper or a long forgotten memory. "Clarisse was just a prisoner of the dystopian society Ray Bradbury depicted. Nothing more."

Santana kept her gaze, unwavering like the day before. "As sane as you or I?"

Rachel took a discrete breath, her hands resting on her desk. "Me or you, Santana," she corrected, before turning back to the whiteboard once more.

Her class went back to the low murmuring that always seemed to be their default once her back was turned, Rachel allowing herself another more controlled breath. In the farthest corner of her mind she began to wonder if any of her students took notice of her pause, or if her face had showed any telling signs of her momentary lapse.

_No._

_It's nothing._

* * *

><p>"Face me."<p>

It was said bluntly, but not without kindness.

Rachel was standing on a small platform on the side stage of the auditorium, Isabelle at her feet. "I don't know why I'm the one doing this, don't you have students?" Rachel huffed. "You know, those little people that are meant to be wearing these clothes in the first place?"

"First, _you're_ little," Isabelle threw back, two dress pins pressed tightly between her lips. The woman didn't look up from the skirt in her hands, folding the hem and securing it with a pin. "And second, be quiet. You should be flattered that I'm using your body. Besides, you have a great ass."

Rachel giggled at the offhanded compliment, not protesting any further. She'd originally come to the auditorium after the last bell to see Jesse, the man staying behind for the West Side Story rehearsals with Cassandra. But she somehow found herself in costume fittings with Isabelle, Jesse watching on in amusement from his stool next them.

It always felt strange walking back into the auditorium, the lights, the stage. It was like an old friend, Rachel looking out at the rows of seats stretching out in front of her. She hadn't performed on it since she was 18, playing Maria her senior year, with Jesse as her Tony. So in a way it was fitting for her to be helping out, Rachel shifting on the small platform as Isabelle tugged on the red and black dress she was wearing.

"Who's this dress for anyways?" Rachel asked curiously, her hands resting on her hips. "It's beautiful."

"Anita of course," Isabelle said through her mouthful of pins, distracted.

"Yes, I know that," Rachel smiled. "I meant the student." She brushed her fingers over the pleats in the skirt, admiring Isabelle's handy work; it was truly amazing.

"Oh, it's for Santana Lopez." Rachel's eyes went a little wide. Isabelle looked up at her pause, registering her expression. "Don't worry, honey. You're practically the same size. It'll fit her perfectly."

"No, sure," Rachel muttered. "Of course."

"I'll be right back." Isabelle got to her feet and walked off behind the floor length curtain, leaving Rachel standing on the platform, a little struck.

"Jesse?" Rachel murmured. She had the words on the tip of her tongue, the same words she couldn't say to Holly, and the words she wasn't sure if she even wanted to ask. The man hummed, letting Rachel know he was listening. "Have you ever been…intimidated by one of your students?"

"How do you mean?" He mumbled, a worn script in his hand and a pencil caught between his lips. "Like harassed?"

Rachel hesitated. She told Jesse almost everything. But somehow she didn't plan on mentioning her newfound class disruption, especially since she hadn't even told Holly yet. But her best friend was looking at her expectantly, Rachel sighing internally. "Like has a student ever pushed you?" Rachel began, before adding, "Emotionally of course. Or challenged the authority you thought you had over a class?"

Rachel began fidgeting with the straps on her dress. She didn't feel as if she was explaining herself, suddenly regretting opening her mouth. She knew that wasn't what was happening, she wasn't an idiot.

"Yeah, once or twice. Why's that?" Jesse went back to his script with a grin, folding over the next page. "Some brat getting under your skin, Rach?"

A shot of nerves lurched in Rachel's stomach at the way he worded it. It was too close to the truth. "No, no," Rachel shook her head. "Of course not."

Before Jesse could question her further, Isabelle had come back over with another box of pins, stealing her attention. Jesse just smiled sadly at his best friend, before being called over to the other side of the stage by Cassandra and her dance students.

Rachel watched him go.

_It's nothing._

…

_It's something._


End file.
